


A Winter Morning

by Gaaladrieel



Series: Love And Adventures Through The Seasons [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Shire AU, adorable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 07:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10760001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaaladrieel/pseuds/Gaaladrieel
Summary: Winter is coming to an end, and Thorin and Bilbo are enjoying a lazy and cosy morning in Bag End. Their morning also includes a visitor, and some happy news!Back in October, I published my fic"Autumn Adventures", and not too long ago I decided to make it into a series with one fic for each season! So here's the one for winter.





	A Winter Morning

**Author's Note:**

> When I was almost finished, I struggled a bit to motivate myself and get in the writing mood, but then I found some ambient videos on youtube, and I just want to share a couple in case any of you enjoy listening to such, either when writing or reading, or whenever :) I like the ones with streams, but these fit this story better.  
> [woodland ambience](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNN7iTA57jM&t=3462s), [chill harp music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYRyqoGH7yI&t=2956s) (or yoga music as I call it), or how about this [Bag End](https://youtu.be/W0zEImHzJoM) one!
> 
>  
> 
> Big thanks to my dear [MistakenMagic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MistakenMagic/pseuds/MistakenMagic) for the help and beta <3
> 
>  
> 
> \- Rethe is the third month of the Shire calendar, and is the same as 21st February to 22nd March in our calendar.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this lil story of mine! :)

**The 20th Rethe, TA 2947**

 

There’s a content sigh coming from the bed and Bilbo, halfway on top of Thorin, rubs his cheek against the hairy chest underneath him. Thorin is always so warm and soft, making it impossible for Bilbo not to snuggle close whenever he has the chance, and so he wraps his arms around his husband and breathes in the musky scent of him. The chest against his cheek moves, Thorin’s deep laughter one of the most beautiful sounds Bilbo has heard. 

“Morning,” Thorin says, his voice soft and sleepy. His palm strokes the skin of Bilbo’s back, and Bilbo mumbles a sleepy good morning as the hand cups the back of his head, Thorin’s fingers gently combing through his curls. 

A tapping sound on the window interrupts their cuddling, the dark form of their visitor and another impatient tapping making them both chuckle. 

The duvet slides off Bilbo’s shoulders as Thorin sits up in bed, making him shiver and muttering about it being too early for visitors. 

Röac greets Thorin with what sounds like an unimpressed croak, the raven entering their bedroom as soon as the window opens. The cold gust of wind that blows through the window has Bilbo pulling the duvet up to his chin, and tucking the fabric under his feet. 

It sounds like the bird is laughing at him and Bilbo scowls, his frown deepening when Thorin chuckles at him and kisses his forehead. 

“He says you wouldn’t be so cold if you had more feathers,” Thorin smirks as he sits down on the bed. 

“More feathers,” Bilbo laughs. “I find the hair on my head and feet more than enough, thank you.” 

Thorin kisses the top of Bilbo’s head, twirling a lock of hair around his finger, Bilbo humming as his fingers combs through the long curls, a fingertip over one of the braids in his hair. Thorin’s beard tickles when he kisses him on his nose, and Bilbo gently tugs at the long, braided beard, and gives Thorin a kiss on his lips.

“Is it from Erebor?” Bilbo asks, nodding at the letter in Thorin’s hand. 

“Mhm,” Thorin hums, “We can read it over breakfast.” 

Breakfast sounds good to Bilbo’s ears, and apparently for Röac as well, the raven settling down onto Thorin’s shoulder.

 

  
“It’s from Fili,” Thorin says, and takes another bite of his sausage and scrambled eggs. Their nephew is once again apologising for them not having been able to travel west to Hobbiton this winter, and therefore couldn’t celebrate Thorin’s 200th birthday. 

It has been more snow in Hobbiton than in years, in Erebor as well, and crossing the Misty Mountains would only have been foolish of them. Thorin has never cared much for his birthdays, and he certainly wouldn’t want his family to set out on a dangerous trip through Middle-earth just to celebrate it, no matter how much he’d love to see them again. But, even he must admit that turning 200 and not have died of old age yet or any of the battles he’s been in is worthy of a celebration. So it’s a joy for them both to read that Fili, Kili, and Dís will make the trip this spring, and hopefully, just in time for Fili’s birthday, their nephew telling them it would be exciting to celebrate it in the Shire, and together with his Uncle.

The sun is higher in the sky when they make their way outside, the sunshine making the snow look like a glittering blanket over Hobbiton, the smoke from the chimneys the only sign of many of the smials.

It hasn’t snowed during the night, both Bilbo and Thorin glad they won’t have to shovel and sweep outside Bag End, quite content with sitting down on the bench by the gate and enjoying a pipe right after breakfast. Röac naps on a blanket next to Thorin while they do, before he’ll make the flight back to Erebor, a letter for their family tied to him.

It’s quiet in Hobbiton during winter, but the birdsong and the rustling sound of snow falling off and down between the branches, and of hobbits chatting down at the market, is a clear sign that spring is on its way, and Bilbo is glad the snow and cold will soon be a thing of the past.

The snow creaks under their bare and booted feet as they walk hand in hand down the path from Bag End to the market, the fresh air soon mingled with the smell of freshly baked bread and cakes, and Bilbo pulls Thorin with him towards the stalls with fish, and cheese. 

“Cousin! Mister Thorin!” Drogo comes walking up to them, a basket in his hand. “Out enjoying the day, I see,” he grins. 

“Hardly any other choice when the weather’s finally nice, and the pantry is hardly overflowing,” Bilbo chuckles. 

“True,” Drogo says, nodding at his basket. “Any plans for the day?”

“No, not that I can think of,” Bilbo says. “Why don’t you come over for second breakfast later?” 

“Been stuck in your smial for too long, cousin? You’re not really one for inviting anyone for tea, in hopes for some gossip maybe?” Drogo laughs. “But I guess even we have a tale or two to tell after spending most of our days inside our smials this winter. I’ll come over after delivering this to mother!” 

“You know I like gossip just as much as the next Baggins! As long as it’s not about us,” Bilbo chuckles, and waves back to a still laughing Drogo.

When Drogo later knocks on their door, and sits down in their parlour, it’s to a table laden with both a savoury and sweet pie, honey cake, biscuits with fruit and nuts, and Belladonna’s old cups, and her teapot filled with tea. The fire in the hearth is crackling, warming up Bag End and chasing away the chill from outside, and it’s with a nod towards it Drogo asks if they’ve got enough firewood to last them until the warmer days of Spring is here. 

“Oh, yes, yes we do. Much thanks to Thorin,” Bilbo smiles.

“Must be nice having a big and strong dwarf to help!” Drogo grins into his cup and takes a sip of his tea. 

Bilbo looks at him with a raised eyebrow and smirks. “As a matter of fact, it is. It’s been great having him here the past winters. Would’ve taken me much longer if not for Thorin helping me chop and carry it all.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Drogo smiles, “I’ve carried enough this winter.” 

“So have I,” Thorin chuckles. Cutting up a big slice of both pies, he slides the plate over to Bilbo.

“Sit down and eat now,” he says softly, Bilbo sitting down with a smile, pulling the plate closer to himself with a finger.

 

“This is good, really good,” Drogo mumbles, his mouth full of cake. “Auntie’s recipe?”

“It is,” Bilbo says, smiling fondly at the thought of his mother. 

“I’m glad the weather’s turned, I’ve missed your cakes. Much better than mum’s! But don’t tell her that,” Drogo laughs. “You know what cousin, the other hobbits can say what they want, but I’m glad you ran off.” 

“I mean,” he continues when Bilbo’s eyes widen, “You went off and saved the world, and got yourself a king too! I don’t see anyone else here doing such amazing things.” 

“But I’m glad you came back home,” he says softly. “You’ve changed, Bilbo, but maybe to the better, you’re happier, and I’m glad I get to spend time with you. Plus, more cake for me!” 

Bilbo laughs when Drogo finds himself another large slice of cake. “Thank you,” he says, taking another slice for himself, “I’m happy to hear that, Drogo.”

  
After his parents died, Bilbo kept visiting his relatives, although for only a little while, and sometimes only for special occasions. The big dinners often held at Bag End were no more, and so the visits became few and far between. 

But after meeting Thorin, his family, and the company, he began to enjoy the company of others, and see the importance of friends and family, realising that his loneliness was much thanks to him keeping to himself. 

When he and Thorin had come back to Hobbiton, and the hobbits started whispering about “mad Baggins and his dwarf,” Bilbo thought he could invite at least some of his closest relatives so they could meet Thorin, and see for themselves that he wasn’t the big, scary dwarf some would have him to be. 

It had worked out well, with Bilbo’s relations not of the worst sort, most very accepting and finding Thorin to be a kind and decent fellow, especially when they saw how well he treated Bilbo.

The rumours then quieted down, his family spreading only good words and correcting those who weren’t. Some were still sceptical, or just too fond of gossip, and when Bilbo had accidentally let slip that Thorin really was a king, he had certainly gotten a few more looks again, although some more flirty than sceptical, and Bilbo had walked beside him quite smug then, and still do.

 

“Oh, you should have heard her, Thorin!” Drogo exclaims, dragging a hand down his face. “Talking about marriage and such! We’re still in our tweens!”

Drogo is a Baggins through and through, fond of home, and definitely not of adventures. But when Bilbo returned to the Shire, he was the one most interested in his adventure, and after not having seen his young cousin for a long time, the hobbit all grown up, Bilbo was more than happy to tell him a tale of his adventures now and then. And after a few meals and tales, Drogo kept showing up on their doorstep at least once a week, becoming a part of Bilbo and Thorin’s new routines in Bag End and Hobbiton, both more than happy to have him over.

“She’s a lovely girl though,” Bilbo smiles, Drogo’s cheeks now soft pink, “She would make a wonderful wife, I’m sure.” 

“Mhm,” Drogo mumbles, smiling as he takes a bite of his pie so he won’t have to talk more about Primula.

They sit there for quite some time, catching up on each other’s lives, and Drogo sharing the latest gossip. Both he and Bilbo in a more relaxed position in their chairs, with their hands on their stomachs so full that Bilbo thinks he could roll down the hill without a problem if he wanted to. 

When they’re alone again, Bilbo having sent Drogo home with half a pie wrapped in a kitchen towel, they collect the leftovers and plates, carrying them into the kitchen, the bright sun greeting them there it shines through the windows, filling the room with a golden glow. 

Thorin washes the dishes, while Bilbo dries them, humming as he does, their arms touching as they stand next to each other. The round window in front of them is ajar, the cold, fresh breeze finding its way inside, ruffling Bilbo’s curls. Looking up, Bilbo can see the trees slowly sway in the wind, the snow on their branches flying away with it. 

“Well, there’s that done,” Bilbo says cheerful, putting away the last plate as Thorin dries his hands. 

“Now,” Bilbo mumbles as he fills the kettle with water, hanging it over the fire in the hearth. “What shall we have for luncheon?” He grins. 

Thorin laughs as he sits down next to his husband on the bench by the kitchen table. He puts an arm around his waist, and gives the top of Bilbo’s head a kiss. “Oh, Bilbo,” he laughs into the golden and silvery curls, “I can’t eat for a few hours, despite how much I’d like another slice of pie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) Kudos and comments are much appreciated, and always replied to <3
> 
> [This fic's tumblr post](http://gaaladrieel.tumblr.com/post/160126658320/a-winter-morning-part-two-of-the-love-and)


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